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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103099">First Kiss</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressoficecream/pseuds/empressoficecream'>empressoficecream</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Scarlet and the Duke (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, One Shot, Pre-Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:48:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressoficecream/pseuds/empressoficecream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to Miss Scarlet and the Duke, about Eliza and Wellington's first kiss.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eliza Scarlet/William Wellington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>First Kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wellington knew he shouldn’t kiss Eliza. </p><p>But he also knew that he wanted to. And Henry, Eliza’s father and Wellington’s mentor at the Scotland Yard, always told him to follow his instincts. Of course, Henry never meant it in reference to his only daughter, but an instinct is an instinct.</p><p>Wellington was standing in the Scarlets’ drawing room when the two opposing desires struck him like lightning. He was standing, facing Eliza, whose face was buried in his chest. She had been crying, her family dog Benjamin had been struck by a carriage racing down the street. What Welling knew that Eliza did not, was that Benji didn’t die immediately; instead, Henry had to carry the creature, half-dead and bleeding profusely, to the backyard, where the seasoned inspector shot it with his handgun. </p><p>Wellington always knew that Henry, underneath the intellectual exterior, was a big old softie. The man was practically a teddy bear in a waistcoat when it came to his daughter, and having to shoot the dog just about destroyed him. Earlier, when Wellington stopped by Henry’s study at home, going over details of a murder case that he hadn’t had the time to go through at work, Henry had told him to conceal the fact that Benji was shot. He wanted Wellington to go along with the story that the dog had died on the spot. In short, Henry wanted Wellington to lie. </p><p>The young inspector had never been a good liar. He got all red in the face when he lied, and he was always better with his fists than his tongue. Nevertheless, when an unsuspecting Eliza returned home from school that day, Wellington was the one waiting for her in the drawing room, while Henry hid upstairs, unable to deal with the emotional fallout of the incident. </p><p>“Benji,” Wellington said as Eliza bounded into the room. She always had a seemingly endless reserve of energy, her long limbs constantly on the move, and so did her mind. She was quick with a turn of phrase, and one of the smartest, most intimidating woman Wellington had ever met. Not that Eliza was a woman, not yet anyway. She was only sixteen, while he was already a man at nineteen. </p><p>“Yes?” Eliza smiled when she heard him utter the name of her beloved pet. “What about Benji?” Compared to girls her age, Eliza always dressed plainly. She preferred monochromatic outfits over ones with feathers, lace, or ruffles, and Wellington never remembered seeing her with makeup or perfume. Eliza didn’t need to dress well to stand out; she already did so by being the smartest person in any room she entered.</p><p>“Your father—” No, wrong direction. “Your dog. It’s dead.”</p><p>Eliza paled, and her body became very, very still. “What?”</p><p>“A carriage hit him. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“But he was fine this morning before I left—”</p><p>“It happened a few hours ago,” Wellington said, hating every word that came out of his mouth. Eliza stood before him, still as a statue, and he instinctively reached out for her.</p><p>“Liza—”</p><p>Her hands covered her mouth before he could touch her, and her eyes were welling up. He never noticed her eyes before, but they were the most piercing blue, like the sky after a rainstorm, or a lake on the finest spring day. </p><p>“Liza,” Wellington said. “Please don’t cry.”</p><p>But tears were spilling out of her eyes and streaming down her face, and there was nothing he could do about it. Her cheeks and eyes turned red as her face got wet, and Wellington couldn’t help himself: he cradled her face in his palms, and wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. </p><p>“Eliza,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you like this.”</p><p>Sobbing, Eliza’s elegant shoulders bobbed up and down. “Does—does my father know?”</p><p>“Henry?” Wellington said as panic took siege of his chest. “No. No. I couldn’t tell him. He’d be just as upset.” The lie came out smoothly, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. </p><p>“And Benji—where is he now?”</p><p>“I buried him,” Wellington said. The best lies were the ones closest to the truth. “I didn’t want you to see him like that.”</p><p>“Oh, William,” Eliza said, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you. That was most considerate of you.” Her hair, an intricate crown of golden wisps, tickled the tip of his chin, and he could smell her, a scent that enveloped him. It was citrusy and floral at once, like an English garden in the summer. Wellington couldn’t help it. She was standing right there, in his arms, and his face was mere inches away from her. Drawn by her unique aroma and the soft texture of her hair, Wellington found himself bending down, nose first, and before he could stop himself, he was inhaling the intoxicating scent of Miss Eliza Scarlet. </p><p>“William?” Eliza said, her voice rumbled against his chest. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Wellington pulled away, though his arms, now stiff, were still around Eliza. “Nothing,” he said, stuttering. “Sorry.”</p><p>Eliza looked up at him. Gosh if she didn’t look absolutely delectable, her eyes watery, her cheeks red, and her figure so small and delicate in his embrace. Wellington swallowed hard. It wasn’t that he never found Eliza attractive. In fact, he had been noticing the blossoming of her figure in the course of the past year, since he’d become Henry Scarlet’s protégé, and had always chastised himself afterwards for looking. But all of his gawking and glancing had been from afar; Eliza had never been right here, right in front of him, looking at him with those eyes that always had a hint of a challenge in them. </p><p>It was her eyes that did him in, the way they always dared him to take risks, to never settle for the easy answer. Wellington bent down and captured Eliza’s mouth with his. It was meant as a warning, that kiss, a signal that he shouldn’t be trusted. He was still a man, dammit, and she was all too willing to get too close to him, let him comfort her, like he was totally harmless. But Wellington was far from harmless, and suddenly he wanted Eliza to know that more than anything in the world. So he kissed her, and savored the sensation of her soft lips against his own, and when he was about to release her, Eliza kissed him back. </p><p>She kissed him like her life depended on it. She threw her arms around her and stood on her toes, so she could gain better access to him. She kissed him, her lips savoring, searching, teasing, and when his mouth opened, half from shock, half from desire, it was she who slipped her tongue in, eliciting a pained groan from him. The power balance was all off here, Wellington thought groggily. He was the man, he was supposed to do the taking. But Eliza had never been like any other woman he knew, and she tasted him with hunger and desperation. Wellington felt a familiar heat building at the bottom of his spine, felt his hands traveling, down from the small of her back to her skirts, where layers of clothing covered her most delicious behind—</p><p>“Eliza?” Henry called out from the stairs, causing Wellington and Eliza to jump apart. Wellington closed his eyes to gather himself, and Eliza turned to face the fireplace. By the time Henry entered, the pair were standing close together, but they looked like nothing was amiss. </p><p>“Oh, father,” Eliza said, her voice ragged. A less observant man might think it was from distress rather than lust inspired by a recent escapade. “Have you heard about poor Benji?”</p><p>Henry ran a hand through his beard, his tell when he was hiding something. “Yes,” he said. “Wellington told me before you came home. It’s horrible. Truly horrible.”<br/>

Calmly, Eliza walked over to her father, and the two began talking about a memorial service for their beloved dog. Gazing into the fireplace, Wellington heard naught a word. His mind was busy, replaying the few moments he just had, with a girl he would never allow himself to have.</p>
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